How Not To Live Your Life As A Teenage Mutant
by Emily Said It
Summary: Rogue screws up, a lot. It's a good thing her friends are consistently there for her, even if to a fault. Set after the events in X1, but with a lot of Evo elements, including Logan already an X-man. Mostly a coming of age story with a focus on family and friendship, and will become a Romy in the very distant future. Rated M for language and self-destructive tendencies. NO ROGAN
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: This story takes place after a skewed X1, where Logan is already with the X-men when Rogue stows away in his truck. This is also my first fanfic, so please overlook any poor descriptions of settings and/or under developed supporting characters. I'm not a writer; I just play one on FF. And, because I see everyone else posting it and I respond well to peer pressure, I don't own anything.**

**Chapter I: How to Bond with Someone You Almost Killed, Twice**

_Oh, fuck._

She could sense him coming down the hall. She could hear the footsteps, catch his scent, feel his determined energy. Logan was looking for her. She wondered if he could sense her nervousness, or if he could tell the claws were itching beneath her skin. She hoped he didn't know how much she was craving a strong drink and a cigar right now, or even more so, how she craved to manipulate the metal in his body.

The footsteps grew louder and finally came to a stop at the entryway. She picked up her book and pretended to look busy, but he probably knew better than to think she didn't notice his presence. Even still, it took him a moment and a deep breath before speaking. "Hey, kid."

Rogue looked up at the burly man in front of her and smiled out of sheer discomfort. She had a feeling she knew what was coming. "Hey," was all she could squeak.

"How ya holdin' up?" Bam! There it was. She nearly killed him twice and he wanted to know how she was doing. The false concern and probably genuine pity was contagious in this place. She elected to keep the conversation short.

"Fine," she answered.

He seemed to scowl for the briefest of moments, but recovered quickly. "Good," he said.

And then he was still there, clearly expecting more than a one world answer after the hell that she put everyone through since she stowed away in his trailer. Rogue uncurled her legs to sit up, set her now closed book on the arm rest of the sofa and turned the spotlight on him. "You were out for a while."

At that comment, Logan stood up a little straighter and folded his arms across his chest. "I know." He seemed almost defensive. The first time he allowed her an apology, but it really bothered him that after every enemy he'd faced in the length of two lifetimes, a teenage girl would be the one to bring him to death's doorstep.

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Rogue didn't like uncomfortable situations and felt herself growing aggravated. She started to feel a little nauseous trying to keep her body from reacting to the overwhelming amount of metal in front of her. She could feel the claws again, too, wanting to come out to take care of the source of her discomfort. The personalities everyone had witnessed, but these physical manifestations she preferred to keep to herself.

She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. When she opened her eyes again, Logan was looking at her strangely. She dropped her eyes to her gloves and then looked back at him, hoping he was done with his assessment.

"Want to get outta here?" he eventually asked.

"Hell yes."

The place was a hole in the wall. That made them both feel a little more at ease. And the pizza - the pizza was so good. This was nothing like the pizza she ate in Mississippi. Logan was on his fifth beer, waiting for her to finish eating. He already ate most the pizza himself and she was still on her first slice. In her defense, though, this one slice was almost the size of a medium pizza at home.

They didn't speak much. Outside of deciding on an order, the only thing they talked about were her gloves.

_"Take those damn things off kid," he said when she picked up a knife and fork instead of the pizza itself._

_"What?" Rogue asked, caught off guard._

_"Your gloves. Take 'em off."_

_Well that was the stupidest thing she'd ever heard, exposing deadly skin in public. That and she figured she should make it known up front that she didn't like for other people to tell her what to do. "No," she said flatly._

_"No?" He quirked an eyebrow at her. There weren't many who would have the audacity to tell the Wolverine 'no.' A smiled played at his lips, but he hid it behind a swig of beer. That was when the pizza came and, consequently, was the end of the conversation._

Logan motioned to the waitress for another beer and Rogue decided she was done with her meal. It was cold now, anyway. She watched him set the empty bottle to the side and damn! She really wanted one. It was driving her crazy. Almost as crazy as Pizza Hut really thinking their New York style pizza was anything like the real thing.

"You don't have to lie to me, ya know," he said out of nowhere. She figured he was talking about their poor excuse for a conversation back in the library. She acknowledged his words with a roll of her eyes. "Matter of fact, kid, it pisses me off. Don't do it again." So he was the bossy type, huh. She probably should've figured that from his… creative social skills.

"Your personality sucks," she said bluntly.

"Yeah?" he quipped.

"If the professor hadn't figured it out, I'd be serving detention every day this week. Ya know they have detention in the danger room?"

"I run it," was Logan's smug reply.

Rogue frowned at that.

"What'd you do?" he asked.

"Let's just say the Professor and Mr. Summers accepted my apology, but the barkeep wasn't so forgivin'. The hell you smilin' for?" Rogue's eyes narrowed at the lopsided grin on his face.

"Just wishing I'd seen it." Cyke's been a pain is his ass since Logan could remember. The thought of Scott chasing down a female student with the personality of a Wolverine just made him happy.

"Thanks for the understandin'," Rogue said bitterly.

"You're welcome," he responded with another grin. For someone with such an abrasive personality, this asshole sure did smile a lot. It was wearing her down.

The waitress finally came to the table and ask them if they wanted dessert.

Logan shook his head. "Just another one of these and the check."

"I'll be right back with the check, sir, but we have limits on how much we can serve." The waitress, Deidra according to the tag on her shirt, was quick to size up the liability issue in front of her. Logan was visibly annoyed.

"He's fine. I'm his DD," Rogue stated matter of factly, which brought looks from both adults.

"You don't even look old enough to drive," Deidra bluntly pointed out. It was true, of course, but she didn't know that.

"Thanks for the compliment," Rogue responded in her sweetest southern drawl. "But I turned twenty last week."

"Really?" was Deidra's quick reply. "You don't look a day older than sixteen." Rogue was going to pull her wallet from her coat pocket when she realized she no longer had it. This had come up a time or two over the last few weeks. She left most of her stuff on that damn train, including her fake ID. She recovered quickly from the thought and offered up the same sweet tone she gave only a few moments ago.

"Again, thanks sugar, but can he go ahead and get his beer and the check? We really need to be gettin' back to the hospital." She went solemn on the last line and Deidra gave her an almost apologetic look.

"Ok, but I really can't serve you anymore after that," and she left with the dirty dishes to fill their requests.

Logan gave her a look somewhere between serious and amused. "What'd I just say about lyin'?"

"Not to lie to you," was her response.

And the jackass smirked again. He liked this kid.

"What's that look for?" she asked, still unnerved by all the half-smiles.

"You're good entertainment, kid." Compliments don't come easily from the Wolverine, if at all, but he couldn't help himself. She was going to stir up some fun for the fearless leader, and Logan would be there to see it this time.

"Thanks," she said, though it was more of a question.

"Sure thing."

"Did anyone ever tell you you're an asshole?"

"More times than I can count," Logan answered proudly.

After he downed his last beer and paid the check, Rogue excused herself to the bathroom. When she headed out to the borrowed car, Logan was waiting in the driver's seat.

"Thought I was drivin'," she said climbing into the empty passenger seat. When he didn't respond she just shut the door and buckled her seatbelt. She could see the waitress shaking her head in the window and now it was Rogue's turn to smirk. "I think we pissed Deidra off."

"No. You pissed her off. Shouldn't have fed her all that bullshit," Logan said, exiting the parking lot a little faster than necessary.

"Reversed your cutoff, didn't I?" Rogue sounded pleased with herself, and it was the least-depressed he'd seen the girl since he met her a whopping two weeks ago. That'd be the same two weeks he spent more time unconscious than awake, and the same two weeks they spent sharing the events of her nearly dying twice and then killing him twice. Still, he doubted she did much smiling while he was out.

"How old are you really?" Logan asked shortly before pulling into the mansion gates.

"Sixteen," Rogue said quietly.

"Just Marie?"

He didn't think she could speak any more quietly. "Anna Marie. Is it just Logan?"

Now it was his turn to be quiet. She looked over at him, curious about his silence. "I'll let you know when I find out."

They pulled into the garage and turned the car off. It was then that Rogue realized she felt more like herself again. For the entire time they were out, she felt like herself. She didn't feel the need to pop claws out of her hand, beat everyone down, smoke or drink (much). She felt more like she did, somewhat and minus the killer-skin thing, before her mutation started.

"I am fine, ya know," she said after a few moments of thought. She unbuckled her seatbelt and started to get out of the car when he responded.

"Good," was all he said, but she could tell he seemed content with her response. She closed the door and he followed her into what Rogue would call a really fancy mudroom between the garage and the mansion. It was more of hallway connecting the buildings with a small area to sign vehicles in and out. Logan stopped to return the key and log the car back in before they continued the length of the hall to the mansion. As Logan opened the door to go in, Rogue thought of something important.

"Logan," she started.

"Yeah, kid?"

"They," she said, gesturing towards the inside of the building, "don't need to know, ya know… anything about me."

"Yeah, kid. I get it," he said honestly. "I'll see you in class tomorrow."

"In class? Why?"

"I teach the defense and combat classes."

"I thought Mr. Summers taught those."

"One-Eye only covers when I'm out, but I'm back now," he said over his shoulder and then disappeared into the elevator.

Well she certainly didn't expect that. After all the time she spent getting to know him through his psyche and memory, she saw not one sign of him as a staff member of a school. The drunken, skirt chasing cage fighter with an attitude problem worse than her own is a teacher and she couldn't help but wonder what idiot would ever allow him near kids, let alone teach them.

Rogue shook the mild shock from her mind and left for her bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II: How to Make a Good First Impression on New Friends, the Third Time**

Rogue was surprised to see Scott was still teaching her self-defense class the next afternoon. Exhausted after a restless night, she left shortly after drills began to wander the halls. After not seeing anyone for several minutes, including Logan, she assumed everyone was in classes and took the liberty of retreating to her room. As soon as Rogue swiped her key card and opened the door, however, she wished she'd just stayed downstairs.

"Hey, Rogue. Like, what are you doing here?" Kitty asked with more enthusiasm than anyone should ever possess.

"I live here," Rogue said sarcastically.

Kitty smiled from her seat at the shared desk. "Aren't you supposed to be in self-defense?"

"Yeah," Rogue replied suspiciously. "How do you know my schedule?"

Kitty blushed. "I kind of learned it to avoid you when you were acting like Mr. Logan."

"Right." Well that explained their lack of interaction before, not that she spent much time outside of the med bay, the danger room and that really shitty bar. Rogue suddenly wished for an escape from the reminder of the last two weeks. While she lacked the proverbial hole to crawl into, she did have a bed just a few steps away. "I'm just here because I'd rather sleep than learn to punch."

Kitty's pony tail bounced with her nod. "I totally understand. Having Mr. Summers is a lot better than Mr. Logan, but the self-defense class totally sucks, especially when you don't sleep well."

Rogue eyed the petite brunette curiously.

"I mean, since you keep having those nightmares. Have you always had nightmares like that or just since Magneto tried to, you know," Kitty spoke hurriedly and hoped she wasn't crossing a line with her new, schizophrenic-by-definition roommate.

Rogue sat down on her bed, wondering how to take the girl's observations. She was a private person by nature and already on all the teachers' radars. She didn't want anyone else to pay any attention to her. However, there was something about Kitty's bubbly and genuine nature that kept Rogue from wanting to tell to mind her own business. Of course, it could have also been because she was too physically and emotionally spent to care. Before she could stop herself, Rogue answered Kitty's question. "Just since I got here," she told her honestly.

"Have you talked the Professor about it, yet? He's really good with all the head stuff. He'll probably call you in for a therapy session anyway. I'm not saying that just because of your dreams. He always makes new students meet with him when they get here. I guess mutant teenagers are kind of, like, volatile or something."

"Or somethin'," Rogue repeated. "Yeah, I had a few. We talked a little about the nightmares, but I don't want him goin' through my head. I told him they were gone."

"Yeah, the mind combing is, like, really weird. You didn't have to lie to him, though. He's pretty good at respecting others' privacy. It's, like, the heart of his moral code." Kitty closed the lid on her laptop and started putting things in her backpack. "I'll let you get your sleep," Kitty offered.

"I don't want to kick you out of your own room," Rogue said as she leaned her head back. She was starting to appreciate the insight.

Kitty shrugged. "It's your room, too. If I see Mr. Summers, should I say anything?" Kitty asked as she pulled her bag over her shoulder.

"You don't mind coverin' for me?" Rogue was surprised by the girl's offer.

"Of course not! I'll just tell him you aren't feeling well and you'll be in class tomorrow."

"Thanks, Kitty." Rogue was really impressed by how quickly she was taking to this girl. She was by no means a socialite, but it was nice to have some interaction with someone who wasn't feigning sympathy. An alibi was also in an invaluable asset that she would no doubt need at some point, if her past was any sort of indication of the future.

"No problem. By the way, you should totally sit with me at dinner. We should start getting to know each other, you know, since we're roommates and you aren't, like, possessed by Mr. Logan anymore. Ooh, I know, maybe we can go to the mall this weekend! We're going to have so much fun together, Rogue. I can tell." With that, Kitty closed the door and left a jarred Rogue in her wake. Perhaps she evaluated her roommate too soon.

Rogue sighed and turned to lay on her stomach. The few hours of sleep she managed to get last night was restless at best. Tapping into her exhaustion was easy. She idly wondered if Logan was just avoiding her and if she'd really be able to keep up with Kitty in this place. It wasn't long before she closed her eyes and fell into another uneasy sleep.

"Rogue! Rogue!" Her eyes shot open and she sat up immediately, wrapping her gloved hands around Kitty's throat. Kitty yelped and phased backwards, snapping Rogue out of her trance.

"Oh my god, Kitty, I'm so sorry. I," Rogue started apologizing immediately.

"No, it's, like, totally okay," Kitty choked out. "I was just trying to wake you. I think you were having a bad dream."

Rogue dropped her head into her gloved hands. "Did I scream?" she asked.

"No," Kitty said, still breathing hard, "but you were making these... sounds," she paused, "like you were _terrified_."

"It was pretty terrifying," Rogue admitted. She felt more tired now than before she laid down.

Kitty held a handful of brightly colored clothes out to her. "Look, Rogue, I know you're exhausted, but if you don't come to dinner, the adults are going to want an explanation."

"What are these?" Rogue asked as she took the bundle from her roommate.

"Um, clothes," Kitty said slowly, like Rogue was some sort of idiot.

"I know that," Rogue defended. "These aren't mine, though."

"Yeah, I know. I figured you could wear some of mine until we go shopping. It must be hard living nothing but black t-shirts." Kitty made a face like she wanted to hurl at the thought.

"Thanks," Rogue said sarcastically, "but no thanks. I'd rather wear my own stuff."

"Suit yourself," Kitty said, taking the outfit back from her. "But we are still definitely going shopping. Two black t-shirts won't get you far with our laundry schedule. Now hurry up or we'll be late and lose our seats."

Dinner that night sucked. Royally.

It was the first regular meal time she bothered showing up to. While absorbing other mutants and coming back from the dead expended a great deal of energy, Rogue was still used to the modest diet her former, nomadic lifestyle allowed. She drank coffee in the morning, again in the afternoon and dinner here had previously been in the med bay waiting for Logan to wake up. While the routine was anti-social, it was comfortable. The curious stares were the first thing to bother her now. Even the teachers in attendance couldn't help but look her way. Maybe they were waiting for her to kill someone else.

Kitty, seemingly unaffected by the buzz of attention her roommate caused, walked Rogue to the serving area and explained everything as they went. "I know you've been here a while," Kitty started, handing Rogue a plate, "so consider this, like, a refresher."

The girls fixed their plates and went to a table with people Rogue recognized from classes, the ones she actually attended anyway. She looked around at the other tables as she sat. There had to be at least 30 other mutant kids in the dining area, all with unpredictable abilities like herself. Yet, Rogue still felt out of place, like a freak among freaks. That thought wasn't the least bit comforting. As they settled in, Kitty re-introduced her to the familiar faces. Everyone took turns asking her questions and the increased attention was making her extremely uncomfortable.

Finally, John, a blond haired guy who welcomed her the first day, spoke up. "Shut up and let her eat," he told the table. Was he tactful? No, but Rogue appreciated it just the same. Apparently, some of the others didn't because in a few short moments, the only people in the immediate area were Kitty, John and his roommate, Bobby. She thanked John and ate in silence, listening to the idle chat of her acquaintances. She decided she was full when she finished about a third of what was on her plate, and spent the rest of the time searching for Logan from her seat.

_Quit looking for him, kid. He ain't here._ Rogue pushed the impetuous thought back. While the psyches were fading, they weren't gone completely. She was letting her guard down.

"Rogue?" Kitty asked.

"Huh," Rogue replied, startled out of her concentration.

"I asked if you're finished." Kitty gestured with a frown to Rogue's nearly untouched plate.

"Oh, yeah, I'm done," she answered.

"Come with us then," Bobby invited from where he stood at the end of table. "You can team with me in foosball."

Rogue had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. _Team with him in foosball_, another voice repeatedly mockingly. _How delightful._ Rogue smirked inwardly. Her inner Erik spoke her favorite language: sarcasm.

The four dropped their plates at the wash station and walked across the hall to the converted game room. John earned a dirty glare from Kitty when he told a group of younger kids to "get lost" and Bobby gave Rogue a completely unnecessary tutorial of the game. Despite the initial annoyances, Rogue felt like she was actually enjoying herself by the end of the first round. It didn't last long, though. John's competitive nature started to appeal to Rogue's "tenants" and as the game got serious, she started to feel strange.

John hit the ball hard and it went straight towards Rogue's goal. That was when everything came to a head. It was like time stopped for her and she could feel the metal of the rods on the table play at her fingertips. Though she never touched it, Rogue managed to counter his offensive with a crank shot from the goal rod. The exchange caused her to pause and allowed John to recover. Kitty cheered for John's goal as she replaced him at the table.

Rogue stepped back for Bobby to take on Kitty and John leaned over in Rogue's direction. "That was an interesting defense," he noted quietly.

Rogue turned her head from him. "Nothin' worth mentionin'."

Out of nowhere, all the kids in the room seemed to slow down or stop talking and playing altogether. Rogue assumed immediately that they caught John's comment, but that was ludicrous. She followed the consensus gaze to the doorway and sighed in relief. Logan was scowling from the hall, and that quelled her paranoia. She watched as Logan appraised the room, seemingly looking for anything awry.

"Carry on," Logan barked to the students, and Rogue stifled a giggle as everyone immediately resumed their activities. "You," he said, pointing at her. "Come here."

"Rogue's in trouble already," John whispered in her ear. Unlike the other students, John didn't freeze when Logan stepped in. He sent the older man a challenging look before turning his focus back to Kitty and Bobby. Logan's ever present scowl deepened.

Rogue followed Logan out of the room and towards the main entrance. He turned to her once they were out of hearing distance. Like Rogue, Logan valued a conversation without an audience. "Making friends?" he asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

"Acquaintances," she clarified.

Logan grunted. "Watch out for Allerdyce. He's a wild card, kid."

"I prefer to follow my own judgment."

"Scooter said that 'judgment' had you out of class today," he reminded her.

"Gym really isn't my thing," she said, looking straight at him. She was getting the feeling she was being scolded and that put her on the defensive.

"Just don't miss when I'm teaching," he told her sternly.

_Is that feral reprimanding you, dear? _Rogue clenched her fists in an effort to control the psyche. She didn't have this problem around Logan at dinner last night.

"Is that tomorrow?" she asked, trying to cover up her inner struggle.

"Nah. I have some business up north. I'll be gone for a few weeks," he informed her.

_He's avoiding you, Rogue. He doesn't see your worth. _

_Don't listen to him, kid. He tried to kill you._

She felt more agitated with the apparent argument between the voices in her head. She was suddenly aware of the need to twist Logan's metal form, and then to pummel something with her bare fists. She was losing control fast and had to get away from Logan before he, or anyone else, noticed.

"Yeah, okay," she said hurriedly. "Have a nice trip."

Logan watched as she quickly disappeared up the stairs and wondered what just happened. He wasn't good with emotions or teenagers, or with people in general, but he felt like he had bonded with this kid. That wouldn't stop him from doing his job, but he thought letting her know he'd be gone was the right thing to do. He shrugged off her strange reaction with a shake of head and walked out the door.

Upstairs in the bathroom she and Kitty shared, Rogue tried her best to fight back the tears. Was she going crazy or were the psyches still so clearly present? When she absorbed Cody, his thoughts and personality faded so quickly. Was it that she absorbed mutants that was making it hard for the foreign thoughts to dissipate? Or was it that she took so much from them?

Magneto's voice played at her thoughts again. _You have an ever precious gift. Don't hide from it. _Rogue tugged at her hair, trying to get the voice to stop. _Embrace your talent, Rogue._

The urge to craft something, anything, was too much for her to fight. Rogue gave up trying. She started sifting through the drawers in the bathroom until she found a package of razors. She felt a tickle in her hands as she pulled one from the package.

_Mold it_, the psyche commanded. _Have the metal yield to you._

Rogue concentrated with one finger over the head of the razor and guided each of the three blades out of the plastic casing. She made controlled, swirl motions with her hand and watched the blades spin slowly in a circle. When she tightened her hand into a ball, the blades melded together like three liquid strips. Then, with both hands over the small mass, she guided the metal out into one larger, solid razor.

She didn't realize she was holding her breath until she heard him again.

_It's liberating, is it not? _The voice startled her and the newly formed blade dropped to the floor. Rogue tried to lift it with her mind and again with a hovering hand, but found she couldn't make it move at all.

_That's too bad, child. You were doing so well._

_Oh, shut up_, Rogue thought back. There was no response.

She sighed and picked up the empty plastic handle and its modified counterpart from the floor. She tossed the plastic in the trash, but found that she couldn't throw her creation out with it. She sat down in front of the bathroom door and twirled the blade in her hands, trying to feel anything she felt from it before. The physical inclination to manipulate the metal was gone, and, strangely, that disappointed her.

She put the blade down and pulled the gloves from her hands. Were the claws still there? She balled each hand into a fist and imagined pushing the bone claws out between her knuckles. She eventually gave up. That was gone, too. She turned her hands over and looked at them before bringing her gaze down to the blade. Maybe she still had some of the healing power she stole from the Wolverine. Carefully, she picked up the blade in her right hand and turned her left arm up.

_Just one._ This time, the thought was her own. _Just one little cut to see if it heals. _She pressed the tip of the blade onto her skin a few inches from her wrist. She closed her eyes and held her breath as the cool metal pierced skin. She had to press her lips together to fight a small scream. It hurt far more than she anticipated, but she didn't stop. Slowly, Rogue traced a short, shallow cut towards her elbow. She lifted the blade and took another deep breath before opening her eyes. She frowned. The cut was still very much there with no sign of knitting back together, but she wasn't as disappointed as she thought she would be. She wanted to try another.

Twenty minutes later, Rogue's head felt empty and she was breathing easily. No more disappointment and no more voices. Of course, underneath a wet towel she had four parallel cuts on the lower side of her left arm. She felt good nonetheless. Eventually, Rogue allowed herself to stand and wash the blade and her arm. At a loss for bandaging the large area, she continued searching the bathroom until she found a menstrual pad. She could be creative. The bulk of it didn't concern her; she was the girl with the deadly skin after all. Long sleeves and gloves were completely normal for her. She just wanted to make sure she didn't bleed all over her clothes.

After cleaning and exiting the bathroom, Rogue dug through the mostly empty bag of stuff she didn't lose on the train. She found a small, black velvet bag that held a ring her foster mother gave her a few years ago. She slipped the ring onto her right hand and dropped the blade inside the bag. Rogue cinched it shut and tucked it away underneath her mattress before slipping her gloves back on and crawling into bed. She felt satisfied with her new discovery, but she was worn out now and hoped for a dreamless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: I know I promised a Romy, but a little Ryro action is crucial to the storyline. Gambit makes his appearance in a later chapter. I know because a lot of the later stuff is already written. ;) Updated 3/17/13**

**Chapter III: How to Air Your Literal and Figurative Dirty Laundry in One Fell Swoop**

3:06 am.

_What crap_, Rogue thought to herself. For the first time in weeks, Rogue slept dreamlessly and she still woke up at 3 o'clock in the morning. She reached over to the nightstand and set her phone back down. Never in her life had she possessed a more useful device. How in the world the Professor managed to provide smart phones, tablets and laptops to nearly 30 students and staff was certainly beyond her.

She laid her head down, closed her eyes and groaned. Who was she kidding? She wasn't going back to sleep. She pulled the covers from her body and realized she was still dressed in yesterday's clothes. A change of dress was definitely in order, but Kitty's earlier comment about her meager wardrobe not lasting long already proved true. Nothing she owned was clean.

Rogue grabbed her phone and stumbled in the dark to the closet. Her roommate did offer to let her borrow from her wardrobe earlier. Surely the offer would last through one cycle of laundry? She used her phone to illuminate the closet and pulled down the only dark top she saw. She then sifted quietly through Kitty's chest of drawers until she found a pair of running shorts. Rogue turned off the light of the phone and wandered to the direction of the bathroom.

Once the door was closed and the light was on, Rogue started the shower and began to undress. She paused when she saw her makeshift bandage still in place on her arm. Gripping the top between two pinched fingers, she slowly pulled it away. While the cuts were healing, they also stuck to the pad and it hurt to uncover them. She'd definitely need a better bandage. She then wrapped and tossed the pad into the trash, continued to undress and stepped under the hot spray.

Rogue didn't give the previous night any more thought until she was shampooing her hair. Though it made sense, Rogue didn't expect the soap to sting her wounds, much in the same way she didn't expect to craft a blade with her stolen gift. There was no forethought, no premeditation and certainly no expectation when it came to the cutting, and that was okay. She just couldn't figure out why she had continued. Only attention-seeking Emo kids slice their arms up and while she did have a preference for black, she wasn't at all lacking in the attention department. The pain wasn't fantastic, and the rush left her body shaking, like having way too much coffee on an empty stomach. It wasn't a good feeling. The only good thing that came out of the whole experience was the crash. The emptiness and the weightlessness, though it didn't last long, was all consuming and a welcome break from battling mutant psyches in her head. But she didn't know she'd get to experience that residual high when she pierced her skin the second time.

She sighed inwardly. When it came down to it, why she continued after the first cut was irrelevant. The real question was how she was going to deal with the results. Rogue now knew the end result of using her razor, and she was scared. She was scared because she loved it and she knew she'd use it again. When, where and why? That was all a mystery to her. She just knew, that if something compelled her now to seek an escape, she'd look to the blade.

Rogue did her best to push her conclusion into the recesses of her mind and turned off the shower. After towel drying her hair and body, she slipped on the shorts she borrowed from Kitty and frowned. While the black material was probably decent on Kitty, Rogue was sure it looked like nothing more than underwear on herself. The shirt she grabbed wasn't much better. The dark green tank top clung to her curves and just barely reached the top of the shorts if she stood still. It'd have to do, though. It was all she had. Rogue grabbed the laundry bag from the corner and exited the bathroom and bedroom in search of a washing machine.

She was freezing and the dryer was warm, so she sat on it. Her borrowed clothes not only left nothing to the imagination, but also no protection from even the indoor temperature of the building. She did need to go shopping.

"Hey," came a voice from the door.

Rogue jumped up off the dryer and spun quickly toward the sound. The source chuckled at her reaction.

"Damn it, John! You scared me," she scolded. "What are you doing in here?"

"People don't usually do laundry at 4 a.m.," he said with a smirk. "I was curious."

"Makes sense, I guess. Did you just get in?" Rogue asked. John was fully dressed in dark jeans and a red, long sleeved Henley. He set his jacket on one of the empty dryers and gestured to himself.

"How can you tell?"

"Wild guess," she answered flatly, and then she involuntarily shivered. "Could you shut the door? You're lettin' all the heat out."

John did as she asked while she set herself back up on the running dryer. He leaned against the stacked washers in front of her and stared.

"What?" Rogue asked.

"For a girl with poison skin, you're really showing it off." There was a mischievous glint in his eye as he said it.

Rogue looked down at herself. Yep. She looked like a slut. "Thanks for noticin', sugar. Now can you stop?"

"It was just an observation," he defended. "How about I even the score for you?" John grabbed the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head.

Rogue immediately turned away, embarrassed by the sudden presence of his very chiseled upper body.

"Better get used to it," he told her with small laugh. "You'll see a lot less around here in the gym. These other assholes don't believe in modesty."

"And you do?" she quipped, still not looking at him. He held his shirt out to her and she eyed it wearily through her peripheral. "Take it," he told her. "You're cold."

Rogue sighed in defeat and reached out to grab the shirt, but he wouldn't let go. Realization hit her hard as she caught his gaze. She didn't have a bandage or gloves to hide the damage on her arm. John released the shirt without comment and the mischief in his eyes faded to something darker, almost predatory. He stepped forward and placed his hands on either side of her thighs and pinned her legs with his jeans when he closed the distance between them. He was exact in the way he leaned into her, carefully surrounding her upper body with his naked torso so that they never touched. Under any other circumstances, the threat of near contact would've made her recoil, but with the dryer under her, she had nowhere to go. All she could do was sit very, very still and wait for him to make the next move.

"The next time you want a release," he whispered into her ear, "come find me." He lingered there, letting his breath warm her neck. She felt an intense heat creep from her chest and into her cheeks and then he retreated. Without another word, he grabbed his jacket and left the room.

When the door closed, Rogue sucked in a breath as if she hadn't breathed in a lifetime.

"What the fuck was that?" she said aloud to herself. She brought her hands to head and buried her face in his shirt. Logically, she knew that whatever had just happened was over now. Her emotional and physical being, however, couldn't keep her out of savoring the intense encounter.

Eventually, Rogue turned the shirt upside down and slipped her head and arms through it. The sleeves went down to her knuckles and that was a relief for her. It was still warm, too. Then, like any girl wearing the shirt of a sexy boy, she pulled the collar of the Henley up to her nose and breathed in the scent. It smelled like Axe and the smoke from a fire. She blushed again and couldn't help but revel in the warmth and his scent.

When the dryer buzzed, Rogue snapped back into reality and her frustration sank in. She shouldn't have indulged in him like that. After all, she couldn't touch him and now she just wanted what she couldn't physically have. She took a deep breath and squeezed her hands into tight fists until was sure the butterflies in her stomach had fled. Rogue slipped down off the dryer and stretched her sore hands.

_Damn John and his stupid shirt_, she thought bitterly to herself.

She pulled the clothes from the dryer and went back to her room where she tossed them into a pile on her bed. Rogue crawled in next to warm bundle and buried her head into the pillow to fight back a scream. After a moment of what would have looked to any outsider like a very quiet, epileptic fit, she lifted her head and checked the time on her phone. It was just after 5:00 a.m. now. She hoped Kitty would wake up soon so she could get out of this place for a while, and far, far away from St. John Allerdyce.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: I'm the typo queen. Please let me know when you see one... or two... or five. Enjoy some fluff... and some suspicious coffee.**

**Chapter IV: How to (Unsuccessfully) Extinguish a Fire**

A few hours after her unsettling encounter with John, Kitty took Rogue to find Jean. The Goth had been dressed and ready at an ungodly hour and was adamant that Kitty wake up as soon as her alarm sounded. Despite not being able to use her snooze button, Kitty was pleased about having a shopping partner; they just had to secure an escort. Jean agreed to drive them, but only if Ororo would go, too.

In the car, Rogue tried to shake the feeling that the presence of two teachers was actually a precautionary measure for her. Maybe they thought she'd drain someone by taking a fist to the face since that was the only part of her body she couldn't cover. Well, there was the exception of her ears and neck, and John did manage to get dangerously close to those exposed parts earlier that morning. Rogue mentally berated herself for the reminder and tried to focus on the passing scenery. Unfortunately, she felt like she may have been projecting those thoughts. She was sure she caught Jean's amused gaze in the rearview mirror more than once.

They arrived at the mall just as it opened and separated at the entrance after Ororo secured a promise from the girls to meet them for lunch. It was then that Rogue realized how uncomfortable she actually was shopping with the girl-next-door on Daddy Warbucks's dime.

"Don't you see anything you like?" Kitty asked her roommate after nearly two hours of fruitless trekking.

"Not really," Rogue replied.

Kitty eyed her skeptically. "You have tried looking for colors other than black, right?"

"Sure." Not.

Kitty looked down at the stack of black jeans in front Rogue. The girl was already wearing dark jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt and gloves. The only color she had was in her skunk stripes and the dark purple laces on her black boots. "I'm not convinced."

The serious look on Kitty's face left Rogue trying to conceal a smirk. Small, peppy and pink didn't leave a lot of room for moods that weren't characterized by the average valley girl.

Kitty moved to a nearby rack and plucked from it an emerald green, hooded sweater. "Try this," she insisted.

"Kitty, I don't think this is my style."

"Come on, Rogue. You were the one begging to shop at 7-freakin-a.m and you haven't bought one thing. Please try it on." That girl was as sweet as she was cunning. She was playing at Rogue's guilt for dragging her out of bed, all the while wearing the most innocent smile she could muster.

_Evil_, she thought to herself. Rogue outwardly groaned and took the sweater from her. "Alright," she agreed.

Kitty literally bounced with enthusiasm to the dressing room, grabbing several things along the way. Rogue was really impressed with Kitty's interpretation of her personal style. She kept the selection to basic, dark pieces that were reasonably functional and comfortable. She even found a hoodie and boots that greatly appealed to Rogue's Gothic tendencies. When Rogue told her that she already had those things, the brunette insisted that "these won't make you look like a bum."

"Thanks, Kit," was Rogue's sarcastic reply.

After a half hour of trying on the onslaught of clothing thrown at her, Rogue grew tired of the dress up game. She had to settle back into the unfortunate reality of her current situation. She loved nearly everything in the dressing room, but she was broke.

"Where do I put this stuff?" Rogue asked when she came out of the dressing room.

"You take it to the register, silly."

Rogue shook her head. "I can't afford all this."

"Didn't you get your credit card from Ms. Munroe?" Kitty asked.

"No, you don't understand, Kitty. I have the card."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I don't feel comfortable using the Professor's money," she admitted.

"Oh." Kitty said with recognition.

"It doesn't feel right," Rogue continued. "It'd be fine if I thought I could pay it back, but I don't even have a job yet."

"Whoa, like, stop right there. You can't get a job!" Kitty exclaimed.

"Why not?"

"It's against the rules!" She said it like it was obvious.

"It's against the rules to work," Rogue deadpanned. "How does that even make sense?" Rogue felt herself growing aggravated and started to wonder if Magneto or Logan would show up again.

Kitty looked around to make sure she couldn't be heard before whispering. "Because we're supposed to keep under the radar. How can we do that if we're giving our names and socials people? You know, IRS? Mutant hating government? And what if we, like, have trouble with _you know what_ out here."

Rogue considered Kitty's response. "I guess that makes sense, but I'm not goin' to be at the Institute forever. Workin' and dealin' with _you know what_ is life. Besides, this is way more stuff than I need."

Now it was Kitty's turn to get aggravated. "Rogue, you're only sixteen _and you're a_ _girl._ You don't need a job, and of course you need all this stuff!"

Rogue couldn't stop the subsequent eye roll. Kitty wouldn't last a day on her own.

Back at the school, Rogue found herself in the kitchen seeking caffeine. She was worn out from all the negotiating she had to do with Kitty about what to buy and what to put back. Eventually, Rogue gave in and purchased the lot even though the final total was enough to make her feel physically ill. At least she was able to use that was her excuse for not eating anything at lunch. Truthfully, the headache she got from shopping was slowly morphing a migraine and the server was the type that liked to touch the shoulder of the person he was talking to. Rogue already sought pain relievers from Dr. McCoy. She also asked for large bandages, explaining that she needed to break in her new boots. Now she just had to drown her headache in acetaminophen and hot coffee.

Thankfully, there was very fresh hot coffee.

"Hey, Rogue," Bobby greeted warmly from beside the percolator.

"Hey," she returned. "Did you just put that on?"

She was surprised when Bobby looked a little startled. He looked down at his clothes and back up to her before saying that he spilled something on himself earlier and he had to change his clothes.

Rogue shook her head. "Not that, Iceman. The coffee."

Bobby blushed. "Oh, yeah, I just started it.

Rogue grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the tap. As she swallowed the small pills, she couldn't help but notice that Bobby's blush was pretty intense against his pale skin and the edges of his hair seemed wet. That, coupled with his strange response about the coffee, she had to ask. "Are you feelin' alright?"

"Oh, um, yeah," Bobby stuttered. "Why do you ask?"

"You're sweatin'," she observed. "And don't take this the wrong way, but you're a little spacey, too."

"I'm fine," was Bobby's sheepish reply. He filled two cups and held one out to Rogue.

"Cream and sugar?" he asked in a more normal voice.

"No, thanks." Rogue said, watching curiously as he blew into his mug. Instantly, the steam stopped and the once-hot liquid iced over.

He caught her questioning gaze. "I like iced coffee," he offered by way of explanation.

"That makes sense," she admitted and settled into a chair with her mug.

"Well, see ya," Bobby said and left so quickly that he clipped shoulders with John. John rolled his eyes and continued in while Bobby muttered something incomprehensible on his way out. Rogue stayed silent and looked down into her mug, following the idea that if she ignored him, he'd let her be. That wasn't John's style, though.

"Not going to say hi?" he asked when he stopped in front of the table.

Rogue raised her eyes to him in acknowledgment. John accepted the gesture with a smirk and took the seat directly across from her. An awkward silence settled between them. He was just staring at her and she didn't know what to say, so she simply sipped from her mug.

"Good coffee?" he asked.

She swallowed and wondered where this innocent conversation would take them. "Good enough," she answered. "Are you havin' any?" Maybe he had a purpose in the kitchen other than seeking her out.

"That depends," he answered. "Did you make it, or Bobby?"

She narrowed her eyes at him and temporarily lost the discomfort she was feeling. She didn't know if she should take offense to his question or if she shouldn't care. Since she was scrappy by nature, she called him on it. "What?" Rogue asked acidly. "You don't want coffee from the girl with poison skin?"

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly as if he was trying to fight a smile. "I don't drink Bobby's coffee."

Rogue immediately felt stupid. She dropped back into her seat and imagined the lyrics to "You're So Vain" starting to play in the background. The embarrassment would probably have lasted longer until she realized what John had just said. "What's wrong with Bobby's coffee?" she asked suspiciously. She examined the contents of her mug, smelled it and tasted it again. "Seems fine to me."

"Just a personal preference," he said with a shrug. He leaned slowly across in the table in her direction. "But," he said, his voice lower and his face darker, "I think you should know now that your poison skin doesn't scare me."

Rogue went rigid and gave him a hard look. "It should," she warned. Their gazes locked for a brief moment before it became too intense. Rogue looked down at her mug and allowed her hair to fall in her face. She hoped the white streaks would cover the crimson she felt brewing in her cheeks. John took his time sitting back.

"Rogue, there you are!" Kitty exclaimed as she phased in through the wall.

Rogue straightened up quickly while John casually tossed a look to Kitty over his shoulder. "The door is right there," John said as he stood, pointing to the entry only a few feet from where Kitty phased in.

"Thanks, Captain Obvious," Kitty replied in mock banter. She clearly missed that she had interrupted anything and for that, Rogue was grateful. "Come on, Rogue. I want to wash our new stuff while the laundry room is empty."

"Laundry, huh?" John asked, looking down at Rogue.

Rogue tried to ignore the insinuation and rose to meet Kitty. "Sure, Kit," she told her roommate. "Let's go." Rogue set her half full mug in the sink and Kitty grabbed her hand.

"See you later, John," Kitty told him as she phased Rogue out through the cabinets.

"Shit, Kitty!" Rogue hollered when they went through the wall. "Can you warn me next time?"

Kitty laughed out a short apology and then they walked – normally - to the laundry room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: I'm having the most difficult time writing this chapter, so I made the only logical decision there was to make: I split this bitch in two. Here's part 1 of an emerging YOLO style Rogue. Part 2? Who knows when we'll see that…**

**Chapter V: How to Be Completely and Totally Irresponsible, part I**

She knew she should be sleeping. Her body was practically screaming for it. Lights Out was called over an hour ago and the entire mansion was still, except for her. She shifted uncomfortably in her bed, tossing the covers off and pulling them back on again. She knew that if she could just close her eyes for even a few minutes, she'd be out, but that was out of the question. Even with her eyes open, any shadow she saw or any sound of the settling building made her queasy with memories. Dark, emotional and physically painful memories continued to torture her well after the psyches receded and her foreign powers were gone. And closing her eyes? That brought them on tenfold.

Kitty shifted and said something incomprehensible in her sleep, eliciting a startle and a subsequent groan from Rogue. She pulled the covers from herself again and gently placed her feet on the floor. In a few moments, she had her bed made and was fully dressed without making a sound. She was learning fast, having spent every night for the last week and a half going through the same routine.

Rogue opened the door and poked her head out. She watched and she listened, seeking any sign that someone might be awake. She wasn't worried about getting caught. The Lights Out rule was really more of a guideline, or so she'd so far observed. No one said anything unless students were being disruptive. She just didn't want to bring any attention to herself and, luckily, she wouldn't have to. The halls were unsurprisingly clear. It was Thursday, after all, or Friday for those so technical as to notice it was half past midnight.

Wandering the halls alone was something Rogue felt like she'd been doing forever. In reality, she'd only been here less than a month, but for a large mansion housing a group of mutant vigilantes and sub floors that were rumored to utilize alien technology, the task very quickly became monotonous. She memorized the floor plan too quickly, and thanks to the short time Logan and Magneto took over her conscious self, she also memorized other things she previously wouldn't have even considered essential. She knew crazy stuff like all the mansion's open access points, the security camera locations, the night patrol schedules and, most importantly, how to override the door locks so her personal key card wouldn't show in the access register. There was nothing left to discover and that bored her ever tired being.

She ended up in the kitchen with a glass of water. She kept most the lights off and turned her iPod on low, trying to let the beats drown the images through the headphones. That was the worst part of her power. It had been nearly four weeks since she came to Xavier's, nearly four weeks since Erik and Logan's psyches and powers had flooded her body, but those faded. She knew they were gone because the night she and Kitty returned from shopping, the night after she crafted her razor, she spent most the early morning in the bathroom trying to call on them, but there was nothing left. The dreams and the memories, however, remained.

She spent several of her nights mulling over why, of all things, she had to replay firsthand accounts of the holocaust and painful mutant experimentation in her mind. Even more so, she wondered why those horrific memories merged with her own ghosts. Probably the most terrifying dream she'd experienced so far dealt with all her absorptions. She was a Nazi surgeon, ripping apart Cody, ripping apart Logan, ripping apart Magneto, and then her own birth mother. All the lacerated bodies came after her, groaning and stiff like zombies. In the dream, she thought she sought shelter in the arms of her foster mother, but the woman morphed into Mystique and cackled as the scene changed. When Rogue realized she was back on Liberty and being submerged in a tank of green liquid, she woke in a cold sweat with her hands going straight to her mouth to muffle what could have been a very attention-drawing scream. She developed a theory that the memories stayed with her in the same way watching a horror movie would. None of the powers merged with hers and the psyches dissipated, so the events she recalled had to be simply because she had seen them pass through her mind and they were now imprinted there.

She was without a theory, however, when it came to the other kind of memory. Their "muscle memory" merged with her own and that concept was too strange to fathom, let alone explain. She didn't retain powers and psyches, but the habits, personalities and physical reactions were as strong as any mental picture. Part of her, albeit a very small part, got excited about the prospect of televised team sports in the rec room. She always hated sports. She would hear talk on the news about mutant registration and would have the nagging inclination to seek out the professor and taunt him about his hope for equality and peace. And now, sitting at the table and hearing what she determined to be distant footsteps, she wanted to unsheathe her revenant claws and locate the potential threat.

Wait.

Footsteps?

She had her iPod on. They couldn't be that distant if she heard them over the music. She pulled the headphones away from her ears and stuffed the device in her pocket. She could listen without distraction now and sank low in her seat when she heard the footsteps approach. Someone stepped into the kitchen, did nothing for a minute, and then turned off the one light Rogue had turned on. She waited until the person left before Rogue finally stood. Maybe it was time to find another place to waste her night. She walked through the exit and collided with an orange covered chest.

"How many times are you gonna do that?" Rogue hissed, and she tried to push the intruder back with a gloved hand.

His shoulder dropped back, but John was steady in his gait and smirking, much to Rogue's chagrin. "Do what?" he asked coyly.

"Scare me in the middle of the night, dummy."

"I was just passing by," he told her, feigning innocence. "You ran into me."

"Whatever," she huffed, swiping her long bangs out the way.

"What are you doing down here in the dark?" he questioned.

She _was_ hiding from the sadistic scenery in her head, but she wasn't about to tell him that. "What are _you_ doing down here?" she returned, trying to shift the focus from herself.

John caught the intention quickly. "Ladies, first," he told her.

"I'm bored. You?" She left no room for elaboration.

"Stir crazy."

"I see the crazy part."

"Really? I feel like you've been avoiding me too much to see anything."

"I wasn't avoidin' you," Rogue told him pointedly. Of course it was a bold faced lie and she'd been as elusive to Mr. Lack of Personal Space as she'd been with sleep. "I just don't see how you're stir crazy. It's not like you're ever here."

"Keeping tabs on me, too?" The corners of his lips curled into a devilish smile and Rogue cringed. Maybe she shouldn't have let that observation slip.

"No, I wasn't keepin' tabs on you! It's just hard not to notice the one person comin' in at four in the mornin'." Her irritated demeanor relaxed a little and she tilted her head to the side. "How do you get away with breakin' curfew?"

"I don't," he answered.

"But you don't get in trouble," she observed.

"I'm 18," he countered. "What are they going to do? Take away my cell?" John laughed, apparently amused by the idea.

Rogue shrugged. Really, what would be the consequence? He was a student, yes, but he was also an adult. He could do as he pleased. The last thought nagged at her, though. She used to do as she pleased, too. For months, she was on the road and set her own schedule. She didn't have classes, ate and slept when she found the right places, doing odd jobs and occasionally raiding coin fountains and tip jars. It wasn't a glamorous life, but it was on her own terms, and after the strict rules of the treatment facility that promised to cure her once upon a time, she didn't much appreciate restrictions like curfew.

As if to sense Rogue's bitterness, John tugged her elbow and nodded in the direction of the door. "Come on," he said soberly.

Rogue pulled back and looked at him wordlessly.

"No, really," he said, grasping her arm now. "You hate being boxed in as much as I do. You're going out."

Rogue was too tired to resist him physically, but she didn't have a problem with verbal protests. "How would you know what I hate? Maybe I just wanted be alone." _And stay under the radar_, she added mentally.

"If you're worried about getting caught," he told her, "I'll take the fall."

Wow. Was she that transparent?

When they reached the garage, John swiped his key card and pulled a set a keys from his pocket.

"Why would you do that for me?" she asked as she got inside the blue coupe.

John shut his door, started the engine and opened the garage door from a button inside the car. Without looking at her, he answered with a calm edge as they left the school grounds. "I just don't give a fuck anymore."

The drive to their destination was relatively quiet. Light reflected from the frozen edges of the black pavement and the roads were pretty bare. Inside the car, Rogue messed with the heat controls. She realized she didn't bother to grab a coat on the way out and was starting to feel chilly. John didn't pay her much attention; he just drummed his fingers against the wheel, listening to a very upbeat playlist from his mp3 player. Rogue was glad he was actually concentrating on handling the car because she realized as soon as they pulled away from the mansion that he was the type to consider speed limits suggestions more than rules.

After 15 minutes of what Rogue was sure should have been at least a 30 minute drive, they pulled into a parking space along a nearly empty street. Rogue looked around, trying to find any signs of life, but to no avail.

"Where are we, exactly?" she asked, unbuckling her seat belt as John turned off the car.

"My home away home," he told her with a smile. He shifted out of his jacket and passed to her.

"I never took you for the chivalrous type," Rogue said as she slipped the leather coat on, "and here you are, giving me your clothes for the second time."

John shrugged off the comment and pulled the door handle. He stepped one foot out of the car and then turned back to her. "Where we're going," he started, "they don't let just anyone in. For tonight, you're with me. Got it?"

"Yeah, sure," Rogue said. After all, what were her choices now? Call a taxi to take her back to Xavier's at 1:00 am? Not likely.

She exited the car and walked quickly to keep with John's pace. They walked for a few minutes down the sidewalk, through an alley and then rounded the corner of an office building. Steam rose through grates in the ground, lights were either flickering or not working, and Rogue had the feeling this place was probably the setting for at least one horror movie scene. John stopped at a large black door and pushed a buzzer that Rogue didn't even see on the frame until he released it. A moment later, they heard a click and John opened the door.

"After you," he said, gesturing to the dark entry.

Rogue looked to the entrance wearily and then back at John before stepping inside. When the door closed behind them, Rogue noticed the floor was lit like the aisles in a movie theater and she could hear the faint bump of music pulsing through the walls. They only walked for a moment on level ground before turning the tight corner to a stairwell. At the bottom, the lights were a little brighter and she could make out two large figures at the door.

When they approached the bouncers, Rogue had to fight the urge to stay still as Pyro slipped his hand around her waist. He looked nodded to the guy at the left before speaking to the one on the right.

"She's with me," he told him simply.

The bouncer briefly assessed her and nodded before pulling another large door open, revealing a poorly lit room with smoke escaping through their entrance. As they entered, Rogue realized the smoke was actually a fog machine which she traced back to the top of a dancing cage. A woman in nothing more than a bikini was flipping her long, blue hair around her and moving to trance beat that reminded Rogue of ghost scenes in old movies. There were more dancers and cages surrounding a moderately filled dance floor and a DJ booth along the left wall. They crossed over the dance floor, passed a small bar, and moved further along towards the back of the place. She followed John to another staircase, this one metal and curved, leading up to a loft with a larger bar and some pool tables. It was brighter and quieter up there, albeit only a little.

A few people turned in their direction and began to stare. A slim guy with shockingly white hair was among those who didn't turn away, and fixed on Rogue with particularly hard look that made her suddenly feel very unwelcome. He crossed the floor in a literal blur and stopped quickly in front of John. The action caused Rogue to audibly gasp and John grabbed her arm so she wouldn't step back.

"Pyro?" the man asked almost angrily.

"Quicksilver, this is Rogue," John said, nodding as if he was trying to convey more than just her name.

"I can see that. Why is _she_ here?" Quicksilver asked without so much as acknowledging Rogue herself.

"She needed a break from _Xavier's_," he answered. "I thought she'd like to meet our _friends_."

All the emphasis on words were lost on Rogue. She couldn't pick up on the double entendre and that simply added to her growing discomfort. The fact that this guy seemed to know who she wasn't lost on her, either.

"Wanda," Quiksilver yelled over the music, "come here please."

A short haired Goth in a red, mid-drift tank looked over at the trio and smiled darkly. She crossed over to where they stood and focused her predatory gaze to Rogue.

"What do you need, Pietro?" the woman asked without turning to him.

"Care to entertain our guest? Her name is _Rogue._"

Wanda crossed her arms and tilted her head, as if considering the offer. "Sure, brother," she answered and then licked her lips like she was preparing for a game with her new prey. John left her side to join Pietro for their elusive chat and, despite Rogue's discomfort, she couldn't stop the eye roll. The young woman in front of her was clearly demented and this Pietro guy wanted her to babysit Rogue while he had it out with John? That wasn't going to work. Rogue needed to let this girl know that she wasn't some kind of pushover. She slipped the gloves from her hands and the two Goths locked gazes.

They stared each other down for quite some time before Wanda's hard gaze turned into a genuine smile. "So you're the Rogue, huh?"

Rogue, taken aback, dropped the façade as well. "Yeah. Heard of me?"

Wanda shrugged. "My asshole of a father tried to kill you pretty recently, so yeah."

Rogue froze. "You're father?"

Wanda moved nonchalantly to the pool table next to them, like meeting the daughter of the man who tried to end her life should've been completely non-disturbing to Rogue. "Don't freak out on me. He's royally fucked up and I can't stand the man, but he's no threat. You're safe."

Rogue's mind was racing. Why would John bring her here? Was Wanda just messing with her head? What if she was lying about her being safe? Rogue was trapped. Honestly, what would she do in a place like this? Knock everyone out just to be caged in two floors below street level? If her safety was an issue, she was fucked. And Wanda, she wasn't in Magneto's memories, at least not that she saw, but how would she know about what happened unless she really was kin to him? Shit wasn't adding up.

"What's going on here?" Rogue finally asked aloud, her eyes never leaving Wanda.

"Ugh," Wanda said, clearly frustrated with Rogue's reaction. "I could hex the fuck out of Pyro for not telling you any of this. Really, you're fine here." She pulled two pool cues from the rack in the corner. "Up for it?" she asked.

Rogue still didn't move. Could she trust anything this girl was saying?

"Look, if Daddy Dearest," she said the term with disdain, "was even out of prison to start shit, you'd be the last person on his list. He doesn't like reminders of his mistakes. So like I said, you up for it?"

Wanda tossed a cue to Rogue, and thanks to the muscle memory Logan imprinted upon her, she managed to catch it without flinching. She considered the logic in Wanda's words, and then considered her own. If Wanda was telling the truth, she was fine. If she wasn't, there was nothing Rogue could do about it now. She may as live in the moment, and that thought was strangely exhilarating. She smiled. "Why not?"

It didn't take Wanda to rack the balls, and after a few shots, Rogue began to appreciate the situation a little more than when she first walked in.

"What are you giddy about?" Wanda asked, noticing the slight change in her opponent.

"I don't get giddy," Rogue replied flatly, and she took no time in sinking her next shot. "I was just thinkin' that this is so much better than foosball." She wasn't sure how it happened, but she managed to scratch the subsequent shot.

Wanda grinned a little wider and walked around the table to retrieve the cue ball. "I love the skunk stripes," she commented, placing the ball on the table. "Did you do them yourself?"

"I was born with them," Rogue answered.

"So I'm still a little fuzzy on the details. What exactly is your power?" Wanda continued as she sank two balls in one shot.

"I can kill with a touch of my skin."

Wanda cleared the table quickly, called the final shot and ended the game victorious. Rogue raised her eyebrows in surprise and Wanda shrugged.

"So what can you do?" Rogue eventually asked.

Wanda put the cues away and looked to Rogue with a straight face. "I alter probability." She let the implication of her words sink in and, surprisingly, Rogue started to laugh. Wanda couldn't help but cackle along with her.

"That explains a lot," Rogue said through her mild laughter. "I thought those shots were a little crazy."

"Oh, no, Rogue. I only fucked with yours," she deadpanned. They both found the exchange humorous enough to laugh again.

"Making friends with the pawn?" Pietro asked Wanda after shooting up behind them.

Rogue cringed at the term and flexed her bare fingers.

"She's alright, brother," Wanda informed him.

John, having walked over at much more human pace, finally stepped in between Pietro and Rogue. Rogue looked to him and he raised his eyebrows at her bare hands.

"Well," Pietro said, looking pointedly at Rogue, "that's twice the good news. Enjoy your evening," Pietro said coldly before disappearing behind a door in a blur.

"See ya around, Rogue," Wanda said, heading in the same direction as her brother.

"Well that was cryptic," Rogue said, shaking her head at the exchange.

"That's Pietro for you," John replied.

"You mean the son of Magneto?" Rogue asked. She tried to keep the anger out of her voice, but she couldn't help but sneer her words.

"Let's get a drink," John told her. "I'll give you the details."

Rogue sighed, and again decided that she may as well. She let John place his hand on her lower back and escort her to the bar for what she hoped was a very clear explanation of Pietro's comments and a very strong drink to help her with the rest of her night.


End file.
